Story 95: Reza Shadey and Button's New Beginning
Snuggle in, little dreamers. Tonight, Reza Shadey plots a fishy heist, but kindness stands firmly — and bravely — in his way!
, the timid tabby who used to collect socks like treasure, was settling wonderfully into his new life. He lived with the kind Mrs Fairweather, the lady who had offered him a home after the chaotic Grand Laundry Return Gala. Mrs Fairweather was retired and a widow who loved quotes, cats, and chatting to her geraniums. She'd named him because when she'd gently asked him his name, his nervous little meow had sounded just like "mrow-Button-mrow".
First things first, Mrs Fairweather took to the vet. "Check-up time, love!" she'd chirped. The kind vet scanned him carefully. "No microchip found. He's all yours, fair and square", the vet smiled. Mrs Fairweather beamed, hugging close. "Home sweet home!" she whispered.
Her cottage, just two gardens away from Mrs Higgins's house (they knew each other slightly from the Women's Institute, though weren't close friends), was filled with warmth and colourful knitted things. And quotes! Quotes were everywhere – embroidered on cushions, painted on tiles, even framed above the biscuit barrel. 's favourite was the big sign hanging by the back door: "My country is the world, and my religion is to do good." Every day, Mrs Fairweather would gently hold up to it. "Be good, ", she'd say softly. "Do good!" And , feeling safe and loved, was learning exactly what that meant.
But one afternoon, a familiar, magnificent shadow fell across Mrs Fairweather's prize-winning pansies. Reza Shadey was peering over the fence, his emerald eyes gleaming with strategic intent. "Aha! My rehabilitated associate!" he thought, spotting dozing peacefully on the doorstep. "Perfectly placed. Ready for Phase Two: Operations!"
"Button!" Reza hissed, leaping gracefully onto the fence. "Your King commands your presence!" woke with a start, his fur bristling slightly. "Top secret mission!" Reza continued, puffing out his chest. "Operation: Friday Fish Fandango! Infiltrate the Fishmonger's van. Steal tuna... er, I mean, procure vital provisions... for your glorious leader!" He gestured grandly towards himself. "My website, rezacat.com, clearly establishes my global influence. Therefore, acquiring fish isn't stealing; it's international resource management – primarily benefiting me, of course!"
trembled, flattening his ears. "B-but, Reza... Mrs Fairweather says 'do good'. Stealing isn't good. It's... naughty." He looked nervously towards the cottage door, where the big sign hung.
"Semantics! Philosophical fluff!" Reza scoffed, waving a dismissive paw. "Doing good for ME is the highest good! I am magnificent! Think of the glory! The treats! The sheer honour of serving your supreme commander! Sneak in, grab the fish, and return here immediately!" He fixed with his most commanding stare.
's little moral compass spun wildly. He didn't want to steal. He wanted to be good, like Mrs Fairweather said. But Reza could be very... persuasive. And loud. nodded weakly, hoping Reza would go away. "Maybe... maybe I can just pretend?"
Friday arrived, crisp and fish-scented. The fishmonger's van parked at the end of the lane with a cheerful "HONK HONK!" The back doors swung open, revealing crates piled high with glistening fish and seafood.
Reza directed operations from behind a strategically placed wheely bin, his tail twitching like a furry periscope. "Now, ! Go! Operation Fish Fandango is a GO!"
crept forward, paws padding softly on the pavement. He reached the open van doors. The smell of fresh fish was overwhelmingly tempting. He could almost taste the delicious tuna Reza had promised. But then, clear as a bell in his mind, he heard Mrs Fairweather's gentle voice: "Be good, . Do good!" He remembered the warm feeling of being praised, the safety of his new home, the kindness in her eyes.
He took a deep breath. Instead of sneaking inside, sat tall by the van steps and let out a loud, clear meow directly at the fishmonger, who was busy arranging some prawns. "MROW! MROW! Thief cat plotting! Watch your fish!"
The fishmonger turned, startled. He saw meowing urgently. Then he spotted Reza peeking out from behind the bin, looking utterly furious. The fishmonger chuckled. "Well, hello there! Telling tales, are we?" He shooed Reza away with a wave of his hand. "Off you pop, you fluffy menace!"
Reza bolted, his magnificent fur bristling with outrage. "TRAITOR!" he yowled, vanishing down the alleyway in a streak of indignant fluff. "TREASON! HIGH TREASON against your rightful King and Snack Commander! You insignificant little turncoat! You've been BRAINWASHED by benevolent nonsense and embroidered platitudes! Foiled by PHILOSOPHY! This is catastrophic for biscuit futures! I shall have your sash revoked!"
The fishmonger then knelt beside . "Thanks for the warning, little fella. Good cat!" He reached into a crate and offered a small, freshly cooked sardine. purred, a deep, happy rumble, and accepted the treat gratefully.
He returned to Mrs Fairweather's garden, empty-pawed but with a full heart (and tummy). Mrs Fairweather saw him trotting back and smiled. "There you are, my love. Been exploring?" rubbed against her legs, purring louder than ever. She scooped him up for a cuddle. "Such a good boy, ", she murmured. "Always doing good."
Meanwhile, Reza sulked magnificently in his favourite sunbeam back in Mrs Higgins's garden, trying to smooth his ruffled pride. "Foiled by philosophy! Utterly preposterous! That interfering woman and her motivational posters! Still..." he conceded grudgingly, watching a butterfly flutter past, "... does seem rather... content. A minor strategic win for associate morale, perhaps." He yawned, stretching luxuriously. "But honestly, all this 'doing good' nonsense is terribly inefficient for snack acquisition. There must be a loophole. Perhaps 'doing good' can involve strategically redirecting unattended biscuits? Yes... There's always the next scheme!"
Night night. Sleep tight.